


Nightmares

by LightBloom



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightBloom/pseuds/LightBloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone has the most peaceful nights; Bruce knew that first hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

It was Tony who heard it first, who noticed that the nights weren’t peaceful for everyone. Tony Stark, who was bored because Thor had just gone back to Asgard for an "important matter" and now had no one to bother late at night for any kind of contest. Tony Stark, the most observant and least observant rolled into one, who only noticed because Bruce had the best Brazilian coffee imports and if he was going to stay up all night working, he was going to have some damn good coffee too. If he’d just stuck to the teas that Pepper bought last week, he wouldn’t have heard the soft mutters echoing down the halls. Hand hovering over the wooden cupboard (because Bruce preferred his room in the Tower to remain as ‘homely’ as possible), he listened as the soft muttering turned into a hurt cry and then, an angry yell. Pulling out his phone instead, he set the security camera on live recording.

Bruce rolled uncomfortably in his sleep, tossing a small pillow before curling back into his prior sleeping position. Body curled into himself painfully, he muttered something to himself and fell silent once more. Tony killed the feed; cup full of coffee beans, he quietly made his way out of the room. No reason to be bothered by it tonight.

He _was_ going to poke some fun at Bruce, give him a little snide humor about having other monsters in his head to be afraid about when he saw Bruce wander in with deep purple bags under his eyes and his body slumped forward as if the nightmares were still running fresh in his mind. Suddenly, he could only see his own reflection in Bruce’s place, memories of terror in the desert and bodies dropping like rocks all around him.

In the end, he only dropped a fresh cup of Brazilian coffee into Bruce’s hands before leaving the room with recollections and reasons of why the battles never really ended for either of them.

The second one to notice was Steve; he had a habit of staying up unintentionally, too caught up in his drawings or the vast amount of books Bruce had lent him for the week. It was because of these books that he came over close to midnight—late by his military ingrained alarm clock. Excited to share his thoughts on the newest novel in his collection, his heart sunk when the horrified cries echoing the floor met his ears.

At first, he didn’t recognize the implications, didn’t make the connection of time to the Hulk’s appearance this past afternoon. It wasn’t until Steve saw a huddled figure on the couch, the scraggly looking scientist with his own book pressed tightly against his chest that he understood.

He left the book on the kitchen table.

Tony was awake, just like always, tinkering with some new mechanical instrument whose purpose only he would understand. “Captain,” he acknowledged quietly, grease smeared all over his face as he concentrated on the wires beneath his fingers. His hair was slightly scorched. “I thought soldiers liked to keep a steady bed time—or do you need someone to tuck you in and read you a story?”

“It’s about Hulk—I mean, Bruce. He’s not sleeping well.”

“What about it? Is he keeping you awake?” Tony smirked. “Or were you feeling especially compassionate, Captain Kindness?”

“I went to drop off a book—“       

“Do you watch all of us sleep or just the cuddly, monster morphing ones?”

“This is serious Tony—“

“Do you do ‘rounds’ on Natasha too?”

“Tony, we have to—“

“He doesn’t know.”

Steve hesitated. “He doesn’t know that he has nightmares?”

“No—he doesn’t know that _we_ know. As far as he’s concerned, they aren’t _that_ bad.” Tony grumbled, motioning for the wrench. Steve held it out of reach, dangling it above Tony’s head with a smirk. Tony huffed, puffing his cheeks out like a child before exhaling. “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult of our little boy band plus groupie?”

“Be fair, won’t you?”

“This is cruel Capt’, teasing a shorter man for no reason other than self-gratification,” Tony reached over the counter and pulled up a smaller wrench. “Wrong one anyways…”

Tony sighed. “So you’re telling me that Bruce doesn’t know he acts out in his sleep?” He asked tiredly, placing the wrench out of arm’s reach from Tony.

“Nope—don’t even think about trying to tell him. You know he’ll just go off on another soul searching journey if you mention it and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to tell Fury that you were the one who let the beast out into the jungle again.”

Steve scoffed, turning heel and heading for the hall.

“I’ll keep adding sleep aids in his coffee; don’t worry your little head.”

Clint notices soon after, by mistake as he walks into the main library at the three in the morning instead of the kitchen in his bi-weekly attempt to frighten Tony during his early morning coffee raids. This time, it’s not as noticeable, a slight shift in his breathing cycle and the way he mumbles softly. However, being the way he was came with its benefits. Bruce only ever slept curled up like he was afraid of something much bigger than the beast that raged within him; it was when he slept over his work that horrors were too vivid to imagine.

Natasha was the only one who had figured it out completely, the only one left next to Bruce’s sleeping figure in the lounge, the remainder of Tony’s popcorn fiasco and pillow tantrum scattered around the room. Lifting Bruce’s head and slipping a pillow beneath it, Natasha took a seat by his feet. Taking up her mug, she placed the porcelain above her lips and inhaled the exotic smells.

“Harlem?”

“A village,” he murmured, eyes opening for a moment and shutting after a second’s hesitation. “Deep in the forests of Argentina…”

“I don’t remember seeing that on file.”

“It probably isn’t on file; everything is a blue, honestly. Fragments and sounds, all clustered into twisted memories.” He sighed.

“Do you ever wish they would stop?”

“Am I a masochist if I say no?”

“All the apologies in the world won’t mean a thing if you don’t forgive yourself; why make yourself wait, suffering like this day in and day out?”

“I can wait; the world can’t. The world is always changing.” He mumbles, curling into himself again.

“You aren’t a constant either. Not asking for help won’t prove anything Bruce.”

“No, but asking for help won’t do me any favors with the Big Guy either.”


End file.
